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There was something new about Xie Lian that Hua Cheng couldn’t quite point his finger at — and it wasn’t the red veil, nor the marriage sedan. And it wasn’t surprising, really, since there were so many years between then and now; still, a part of Hua Cheng thought the world unchanging, if only Xie Lian and nothing else.
Of course, new didn’t automatically mean bad.
His Highness the Crown Prince of Xian Le, all alone, wearing red, laying in wait to catch some unimportant female ghost. It was like the old times, around the edges, and also nothing like them. Hua Cheng was strong, now, and important; he made promises, and then he built them into truth; there was a temple, and, as always, he worshipped — his soul, his hopes, his white flowers; everything in their place, hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of years... The new thing, though, was this: why would he be moved to create a new godly statue when Xie Lian was just there, so close, so real, waiting for Hua Cheng to say hello?
[And then, in a moment, there it is — Hua Cheng held Xie Lian’s hand, white and cold, and everything was neon again.]